Page 61 of Conall's Reign

“Never?” she asked, her hand gently moving to my cheek. “You promise?” Tears streamed down her face.

“I swear to you, with every drop of my blood, you’re mine.” I pressed my lips against hers, tangling my hands in her hair as I kissed each tear from her cheek. “You’re mine.”

?

A-HoleChat

Me: I need you guys to meet me. It’s important.

Angelo: I’ll be at Mirage tonight if that works.

Maxim: I can do Mirage by seven.

Ilias: No problem. I can make it work.

Me: Thanks. See you there.

CHAPTER THIRTY

francesca

The bassfrom the club floor thumped beneath my heels, sending an unsettling vibration up my legs as Conall and I navigated throughMirage. Angelo’s club. My brother’s club. This was a world I knew well: the power, the danger, the ever-present undercurrent of violence.

Sean and Finn moved beside us, their presence a silent reminder that protection was never optional in our world. The scent of expensive liquor and cigar smoke clung to the air, mingling with the seductive perfume of women draped across the laps of powerful men. Conall’s hand rested on the small of my back, grounding me. Still, my stomach churned at the thought that I was on the verge of confessing a sin that would change everything.

Beyond the glitz and indulgence of the main floor, we approached the entrance to the VIP lounge. A sharp, watchful man in a suit nodded at Conall and opened the heavy door. Inside, the atmosphere shifted—the music faded to a distant hum, the lighting dim and moody, and the air felt heavier with the weight of important business.

Maxim was already seated, holding a tumbler of vodka, his sharp eyes flickering toward me with measured interest. It was difficult to imagine him married to the teasing, joking woman I had met at the cafe earlier today. Ilias leaned back in his chair, always relaxed, a smirk playing on his lips as if this were just another entertaining evening. Angelo sat with an elbow on the table, his fingers grazing the rim of his glass. My brother sensed something was off as he watched Conall escort me inside. His face was serious as he stared me down, as if he knew what I would say, and my stomach squirmed. I hated the thought of my brother being disappointed in me.

“Conall,” Maxim greeted, his gaze then shifting to me. “Francesca, nice to see you. My wife tells me she had a good afternoon with you.”

“We had a good visit. Maybe you guys can come over for dinner sometime.”

“Sure,” Maxim said ruefully, running a hand over his chin. “Cora would murder me if I said no.”

Ilias held out his hand. “Pay up, sucker.” Angelo slapped a few bills into his palm.

“You’re a dick.”

Ilias just laughed. “Not my fault you lost.”

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat but smiled at Ilias’s antics. They were obviously betting on Maxim and Conall getting domesticated, which was probably pretty funny for the two of them. Conall pulled out a chair for me, and I gratefully collapsed into it. My pulse pounded in my temples. Theo and I had kept this secret for years, and now that we had set it free into the world, there was no putting the genie back in the bottle. Fausto was not just another soldier in the ranks. He had been the brother of one of the dons in New York, and I had killed him. He had deserved it, but still.

Conall settled beside me, stretching an arm along the back of my chair in a gesture that conveyed both possession and protection. “We have something to discuss,” he said, his voice steady and controlled.

“We gathered. I’m a little surprised that it includes the lovely Francesca.” Ilias winked at me, but a puzzled expression remained on his face. Theo’s brother seemed somewhat of an anomaly to me. Her family’s criminal organization was different from the Santelli mafia and even the O’Kellys. Ilias appeared to thrive within a completely distinct network from the others.

“Her presence was necessary,” Conall said, coolly rubbing his thumb along the edge of my hairline.

Maxim took a slow sip of his drink. “Go on.”

I exhaled, pressing my palms on my lap. “It’s about Fausto.”

The room fell silent. Ilias’s smirk sharpened, Angelo leaned in slightly, and Maxim’s expression darkened just enough to make my spine straighten.

Conall’s fingers brushed my shoulder, offering silent reassurance. “She’s the one who killed him.”

Silence hung thick and suffocating. No one seemed to cast judgment—these men had experienced enough of the world to recognize what people were capable of—but their lack of reaction was almost worse. It suggested that they were already calculating the consequences.

---